A Drinking Song
by vanillapudding5
Summary: Relationship history in 25 parts or less. [CappieCasey]


Cappie never really _planned_ on going to college, per se. It's just that it came down to this or getting a job, and he's never been one for manual labor or mental exertion.

Plus, college has parties, of which he's a pretty big fan, so back in November when he was half-assing applications, the choice seemed pretty obvious. Four more years of screwing around, and _then_ the real world.

Or maybe graduate school, depending on how fun it looks when he gets there.

Anyway, the _point_ is that he'd planned on joining a fraternity from the beginning (parties and sorority sisters all rolled into one neat package, what more could he want?), so when Rush comes around his first week away from home, he puts a clean shirt on and steps into the middle of a group of guys headed for Frat Road, ready for a good time.

They're at the Omega Chi house for maybe fifteen minutes before it finally hits Cappie that this – standing around, posturing, comparing parents and trust funds and Rolex watches – really isn't a joke. He's been waiting for it, keeping an eye out for a sudden movement and someone jumping out of a closet somewhere, yelling, 'PSYCH, PARTY'S OUT BACK,' or something, but it never comes. (No one says psych anymore anyway, do they? All his daydreams are from the '90s.)

This is the perfect place for someone like Evan Chambers, his roommate – an entire room of people who take themselves _way _too seriously – but it's really not his style.

After standing with a guy named Prescott who's wearing a sweater vest that's just as preppy as his name, deadpanning about vacation spots in the Hamptons for awhile (shit, he and Dad go hunting every year on Bear Lake with an old tent and a cooler of beer, he's never even _thought_ of the Hamptons in his life), Cappie thinks maybe he'll shoot _himself_ if they don't leave soon.

Kappa Tau is much more his style than any of the other places he's been tonight. No-one's wearing polo shirts or button-ups or discussing political views or anything, and there's a party out back with real music – not that slow touchy feely crap they were playing at Omega Chi – and a very real, very hot girl who sidles up to him the minute he steps onto the lawn.

They don't take reference letters here (Cappie actually saw one of the guys launch a stack of them through a hula hoop into a kiddy pool out back earlier) and that's good, because he definitely didn't bother to take time bullshitting expensive stationary and glowing remarks about himself from Mrs. Mildred Schlesburger or whatever.

There's this blonde girl Cappie sees around campus about a thousand times during his first month – sometimes in the dining hall, sometimes in line at the Starbucks around the corner, once in his Intro to Psych class (she probably still goes; he doesn't see the point).

The one thousand and first time happens to be in the library, which is sort of funny since it's the also first time he's ever set foot inside the building (to look up back issues of _Sports Illustrated_, but still).

She's reading at a corner table, so he decides to take his chance – grabs a book at random from the shelf behind him and flops into the seat across from hers.

"Hey!" It's loud and satisfyingly obnoxious. A group of engineering-type guys a few tables over turn and glare. He grins back. _God_, he loves college.

Blondie jumps and looks over her shoulder, then back at him. "Hey. We're in the library, y'know."

He leans in, gripping the table edge expectantly. "I know! Is this your first time, too?"

"No, I mean." She gestures a little and lowers her voice. "_We're in the library._"

"Right, right." He looks as scandalized as possible and directs a stage whispered, "_Sorry_," to their neighbors.

She's staring at him with her eyebrows raised when he looks back, maybe amused, maybe unimpressed; he really can't tell. Does it matter?

He sticks his right hand across the table. "I'm Cappie."

"Casey Cartwright," she hisses back, setting a highlighter into the crease of her book. "Quantum Physics, huh? I wouldn't have guessed."

_A History of__ Quantum Theory_'s sitting in front of him on the table. He doesn't know how it got there, but sure, why not? "No, yeah, well, not a lot of people do. We geniuses like to keep our brilliant minds on the DL, if you know what I mean. Don't want to intimidate anyone and all that." His arm's still hanging in the air between them.

"Wow," she nods, ignoring it. "That's so considerate of you."

"Thanks. What about you, Casey Cartwright?"

She tilts her book up so the cover faces him. _An Introduction to Psychology_.

It _would_ be. (His copy's somewhere under the bed in his dorm. Maybe.)

"Stimulating," he furrows his brow and nods seriously. "So you want to peer into the minds of the people around you? Find out why we do the things we do?"

Her highlighter's sliding across the page again. "I need GE credits."

"Mmhmm. So tell me: what sorts of things would that book have to say about the motives of a guy who asks a girl out for coffee five minutes after meeting her?"

"That's such a good question, but y'know, I don't think we get to that chapter until next week." She snaps the textbook shut and stacks her notes on top, scooting her chair back. He's almost positive there's a hint of a smile tugging at her lips. "Listen, I've got a few things to take care of. I'll see you around."

"You sure will."

The doors swing shut behind her in slow motion.

Tuesday morning he wakes up early enough to make it to General Psychology for the second time this semester, and spots an empty seat next to a familiar blonde ponytail.

He grabs it before anyone else has a chance.

They never officially announce that they're a couple. Or even decide it, really. It's just that sitting next to each other in Psych (which, for the record, he's pulling a 92 in) turns into coffee every morning afterward, then to a movie one night, then another movie a different night, then out for burgers and parties and even the pool hall he's frequented since moving here, and pretty soon, Cappie realizes that he hasn't looked at another girl for a month, and actually doesn't care.

What's funny is, they still haven't done anything more than talk.

He's pretty sure this indicates dangerous territory.

When Cappie kisses Casey for the first time, he almost expects her to shove him away and say something ridiculous like, "I like you Cappie, I really do, but only as a friend," even though he totally caught her staring at his ass a few days ago. He's actually all ready to say that - "But you were checking me out!" - except before he has a chance to get the words out she's pressing herself closer to him and trailing her fingertips up the sides of his arms, to his shoulders, and back down again and he vaguely thinks, _never mind_ and shuts his eyes.

The doorbell to the ZBZ house has always been _way_ too peppy for his liking. It doesn't ring, or ding-dong, or whatever it is that normal doorbells are supposed to do. It _chirps_. Like. Like a bird, or something else really, really girly.

A really chirpy ZBZ doorbell always brings a really chirpy ZBZ girl to the door, wearing a sweater set in some form of pastel argyle. ZBZ girls buy designer brands, 'not because it's a rule,' Casey always insists when he mentions it, 'but because the clothes you wear say something about the kind of person you are, and we choose to present ourselves as women of class and high standards.'

He likes to repeat that sometimes when they're together – usually early in the morning, when sunlight's streaming in through the windows and slanting across his bed, glinting off her earrings and hitting the fork she's using to eat breakfast.

_Women of class_ mumbled into the crook of her neck or the line of her jaw, kissed off the strawberry pie filling on her lips.

"Stop it," she'll say, swatting at his shoulder. "I was serious about that."

"I know," he'll grin back. "So was I."

And then she'll laugh and kiss him, or put a dab of whipped cream on his nose and kiss him, or _whatever_, there's almost always kissing involved.

He's more than okay with that.

Maybe two months into sophomore year, Cappie's getting drinks at a Zeta Beta mixer he's been forced to attend when he overhears part of a conversation between two girls standing behind him, frilly cocktails in hand, shielding their faces behind glossy sheets of hair. (He doesn't really get the point of that whole trick since all it does is hide their mouths, not muffle the sound coming out.)

"I don't know what she sees in him." One's trilling to the other. "Like, it was cute freshman year, her trying to be a party girl or whatever, but we're not pledges anymore, and he _definitely_ isn't ZBZ material."

"Seriously. Somebody should tell her."

"I know, right? She deserves better."

Their eyes are boring holes into the back of his head so he turns around, flashes a big, cheesy smile, "accidentally" sloshes beer over the side of his cup onto one of the brunette's pointy leather shoes, and keeps walking as she gasps and goes rushing for the tissue box.

He's not totally surprised when Casey breaks up with him shortly thereafter, saying that he's immature, and being with him is like being with an oversized four year old alcoholic, and she's been "over this for a long time, we're through."

Apparently, 'women of class and high standards' don't date Kappa Taus.

And that's all right with him, really, it's not like he didn't see it coming, but he'd be lying if he didn't admit that it hurts when he sees her with that bastard Evan Chambers at Dobler's a few nights later.

He runs into her a lot second semester – sometimes on accident, sometimes because he sees her walking through a door a couple hundred yards away and finds a reason to need to be there too. (For example, the _Feminine P__roducts_ aisle of the drug store last week. He'd grabbed a box of tampons when she'd asked him what he was doing, and said there were leaks in the roof back at the house that would need plugging next time it stormed. "It's practically Summer, Cappie," she'd said, to which he'd replied that it was always best to be prepared, because that was the truth.)

Once in awhile she'll have Evan with her, studying in the library or grocery shopping, and those times he doesn't usually make any sort of extra effort; not because he's afraid – there definitely isn't anything scary about a guy like Evan Chambers – but because Evan pisses him off with his holier-than-thou attitude, and the person Casey is when she's with him pisses Cappie off, too.

Or. That's not right. Maybe disappointed is a better word.

Last night before classes start Junior year, Cappie heads to Dobler's wearing boxers, a cowboy hat, and little else.

The place is packed for a Tuesday, but he picks Casey out of the crowd immediately, clinking shot glasses with Ashleigh.

He waits for awhile before going over – says hi to a few people, knocks back a couple of drinks, and works his way toward the bar. Ashleigh's gone by the time he gets there, which is really incredibly convenient. He steals her seat.

"Evenin'."

Casey gives him a once-over and looks like she's trying not to smile. "Have you no self-respect?"

"In my book, you've gotta respect yourself a lot to walk around showing off the package this early before Christmas." Also, he might've lost a bet the first night back but whatever, she doesn't need to know that. "Takes you back, doesn't it?"

"Oh yeah, to those drunken nights at the Kappa Tau house, having a choice of seeing you get stoned or watching _Old School_ for the nine-hundredth time."

Eight hundred seventy-four, but who's counting? "Don't go getting all nostalgic on me." He blocks her way out when she stands to leave. "Look, Case, the reason I broke up with you – "

"I dumped _you_," she hisses. It's lucky looks can't kill; if they did he'd burst into flames right on the spot, the glare she gives him's so strong.

"And the important thing is we both can love again," he shoots back, because he's nothing without a quick comeback. And okay, so technically he hasn't found another girl he can love yet (emotionally, anyway; he's found _plenty_ in a literal sense), but that's beside the point.

Predictably, the boyfriend chooses that exact moment to walk over; says "Hey, Crappie," like it's a genuine asshole mistake, as if they didn't share a fourteen-by-twelve foot cage for almost an entire year.

"The name's Cappie."

"And for that I truly am sorry." Another look up and down, this time with a smirk. Cappie can hear the lame insult that's about to come his way before anything's even said. "Haven't they taught you Kappa Tau boys how to dress yourselves?"

It's really almost too easy. "Well, Evan, we Kappa Tau boys spend so much time with our clothes off, we just figured, why bother? Your girlfriend and I were just talking about that, actually."

Evan gives him a look like, 'Oh yeah?' and kisses Casey right there.

Cheap shot.

Looking back on it later, Cappie realizes that the only thing that really bothers him about this whole situation (other than Evan's really, really, _horribly _over-waxed hair) is that Casey always makes it sound like she hated the year they dated – like it was sex and partying and nothing more. He guesses she mostly just wants to feel justified in having dumped him, but then, maybe she honestly can't remember all the fun they had.

They laughed a lot when they were together, he remembers that. She's probably forgotten on purpose so that when she's out having her "serious" talks about her "serious" relationship with her "serious" boyfriend, she won't feel like she's missing out.

And Cappie's pretty positive she's missing out, because from what he's seen of that relationship with Evan, it's all posing and preening and trying to impress. They're like an old married couple, going out to fancy restaurants all dressed up – there's no fun or spontaneity, and there's definitely no pie.

He still doesn't get why Casey would trade pie in for something stupid like the presidency of a sorority.

Rush that weekend brings with it a little piece of fate in the form of a Cartwright sibling no-one ever knew existed.

The kid's geeky and way too smart for his own good, but Cappie kind of likes that about him - thinks the way he says the first thing that pops into his head is pretty hilarious.

Plus, he reasons, an in with the family means a whole slew of new excuses to bump into Casey.

And there definitely can't be a downside to that.

News travels ridiculously fast through the Greek system at Cyprus-Rhodes, especially when it concerns the campus's most popular couple.

He can almost exactly predict the moment when Casey finds out about Evan and that ZBZ pledge – it happens sometime within the three hour span between her passing him on the quad, laughing at a story the girl next to her's telling, and him walking into the pool hall to Scott behind the bar saying, "That girlfriend of yours is here alone. Keeps coming back for refills."

Scott's always been a big liar, so Cappie doesn't totally believe him until he finds Casey hunched over a table in back, looking a little less than steady on her feet. She tells him she's just looking for a night off from Greek life as he sets up another game, like it's nothing, but he knows for a fact that she hasn't been inside this building once in the entire year they've been broken up. He also knows that _she_ knows that he comes here every Thursday night.

Maybe it sounds overly hopeful, but he'd bet she's been waiting for him to show up.

Getting her to admit that's damn near impossible – when he tries to back her into a corner by mentioning that she chose his secret place to take her "night off" she only laughs at him and says he sounds like a twelve year old girl.

Which may be a very good point, but wasn't actually what he was looking for, so he changes the subject – how does she feel about putting a few stakes on things? If she wins, what does she want?

She looks at him for a second before answering, very seriously, "How 'bout a hundred bucks?" Then, "What do _you_ want?" like she already knows.

After so many years, Cappie's come to terms with the fact that he's completely transparent. "What do you think?"

She laughs a little and makes a face. "Trying to take advantage of me 'cause I'm a little drunk and a lot bad at this game, aren't you?"

"No." But he's nodding, because it's wrong to lie or something and really, why _shouldn't_he jump at a perfect opportunity like this?

He guesses there's about a seven percent chance that she'll take him up on it (usually it'd be zero, but figure two percent because she's not completely sober and five because she's planning on breaking up with Evan anyway, and things are looking up).

"You're on."

"…Okay."

Maybe tonight's his night.

Or not.

His jaw almost hits the floor when she breaks because shit, she was definitely _not_ sink-three-balls-in-the-first-shot good when he knew her before.

"I took a class over the summer."

Well, all right then. He drops two more stripes into the nearest corner pocket and says goodbye to any ideas about winning. They were only seven percent odds anyway; he'd let himself forget about the other ninety-three too soon. So much for those three months as a Statistics major.

"So where's Numb Nuts?"

Her answer comes automatically. "Evan's at Bid Night."

"Uh." He tries not to laugh. "I was talking about Rusty."

She looks away and clears another two balls off the table.

He tries to stop himself, literally tries to hold his mouth shut, because it's probably insensitive to push the issue, but it's just too good to pass up. "Now, how would Evan feel, knowing you think his nuts are numb?"

"I don't know what Rusty's doing," she bites out. Of course she'd put it out there and then pull the evasive card.

Luckily, he's got another in. "Don't you think it's a little weird that we dated for over a year and you never mentioned you had a brother?"

"Sibling rivalry I guess, and something I'm not talking about on my night off." She takes another shot and then straightens. "Y'know, Cap, I hope I didn't hurt you when I ended things."

A beat.

"Who said it's over?"

Her mouth opens and shuts like it's waiting for words to appear, so he glances at the table before they get there. "Last ball." His voice sounds way too loud all of a sudden. "Don't scratch."

She gives him a weird look, squares her shoulders…

And bumps the cue ball right into the side pocket.

Maybe seven percent really isn't such a long shot, after all.

"D'you do that on purpose?" He can't help the disbelief that leaks into his voice, and then she's stealing his move and nodding while denying it before pulling him in by the back of the neck and kissing him like she used to kiss him, almost teasingly soft, then deeper, taking his bottom lip between her teeth just lightly as she pulls away, like she's only stopping for a second to see if he'll come back for more.

That's dumb, Cappie thinks. She should know by now that he'll _always_ come back for more.

Judging from her reaction, a breakup had seemed inevitable the night before. The fact that she wakes up next to _him_ Friday morning also seems like a good sign, at least until the knowledge that she's getting dressed and creeping toward the door sinks into his hazy, half-asleep brain.

There's a pair of lacy underwear looped around her forefinger when he opens his eyes. "Those aren't mine either, in case you're wondering," he says. She drops them and shudders. "The less information, the better."

"How 'bout some breakfast?" he suggests, propping himself up on his elbows. The comforter slips down to his waist. "You make such tasty omelets, how 'bout it, huh? For old times' sake?"

"Later, Cap."

"Aw, we're not gonna cuddle?"

She turns around, takes a few steps closer to the bed, and puts on her 'let me make this clear' face. (He hates that one.) "Last night was a onetime thing."

"Well, that wasn't just one time, last night -" he starts, but she cuts him off.

"I'm saying. It's done. Not to be repeated, in every sense of the word. Understand?" She doesn't even look as irritated as he'd thought think she would be. It's more like he's the kid in the kindergarten class who still doesn't get why eating paste is bad, and she's the patient teacher explaining it for the twentieth time. "Last night was just a…a fond trip down memory lane."

"Fond?" She freezes, hand on the knob, right foot halfway out of the room. He bunches the covers up under his chin and calls out, "Call me!" then watches her cringe and continue down the hall.

_Dammit_.

It's a normal Friday night in October, which puts Cappie and basically everyone he knows (or cares about knowing, anyway) at Dobler's. Same story, different night; none of the good parties are scheduled until Saturday.

Casey's at her usual spot near the door, looking like her head's about to explode; she sets her glass down and massages her temples when he comes up beside her.

"Hey."

"You _would_ be here tonight."

"I would be. I _am_. But where's the rest of your entourage?"

"I don't know, Cappie, and I'm really not in the mood for this right now."

"Feeling lonely?" he asks, leaning against the bar. "It's okay to miss me. I know Dipshit wouldn't like it or something, but you'll just have to tell him, say, 'Dipshit,'"

"Evan."

"Yeah, okay, whatever. Say, 'Dipshit, the thing about it is that I like you and everything, I guess, but you're just not as hot as –'"

"Cappie."

"Wow. You're getting real good at this role-playing thing. That's exactly what I was going to say."

"Cappie. Stop."

"Fine, fine. I just thought, y'know. Give you some help."

"Thanks. I don't need it."

Fair enough. He sticks a chip from the basket on the counter in his mouth and sits down. "So why are you with him?"

"What is this, a test?"

"Sure," he says. "You like tests. You study for them all the time."

"Shut up."

"Okay. But really, though."

She eyes him for a second, then shrugs. "I love him."

"Hmm. Uh huh. Bullshit answer, I call a do-over."

"It's not bullshit, Cap. It's the truth."

"If it's the truth, then what was the pool hall?"

"The pool hall was a mistake."

He wants to say, _Those__ aren't mistakes, Case_. He wants to tell her that Evan hooking up with Rebecca Logan wasn't a mistake, because when you're in love - when you're really and truly _in love_ with someone - you don't cheat on them. And Cappie should know because _shit_, he likes girls – any girl and _every_ girl – but if it were to come down to a contest between all the girls in the world and Casey, Casey would win out every time.

What he _wants_ to say is, "Pick me," or "I miss you," but all that sounds whiney and needy and not at all _him_, so instead he goes with, "Well, if _that_ was a mistake, I'm feeling a little accident-prone right now," and watches as she rolls her eyes, grabs her drink, and walks back across the room.

Sometimes he thinks his life could be a lot more efficient if he didn't have to turn everything into a joke.

Things start getting urgent the morning Rusty accidentally lets it slip that Casey's been lavaliered. Cappie suddenly has approximately two days to pull some major strings, convince her that she and Evan aren't meant to be, and turn this whole thing around. A challenge, yes, but not impossible.

There's a Lit class they were in together at the beginning of the semester that he remembers only showing up for once or twice – he tracks down the TA and finds out that the midterm is going to take the form of a paper written in pre-assigned pairs.

Technically he's not even enrolled in the course anymore, but a little negotiation on his part and Wednesday morning he finds his name next to Casey's on the sheet posted by the door.

"There's been a horrible mistake," she gasps, running her finger down the list a second time. She really does look like she's going to panic a little.

"Some might call it fate," he grins. "_Partner_."

"You can't be my partner; you've only been to two classes!"

"Uh, _three_, including today."

"But. You haven't read the material." A huffy sigh of frustration. "This is _ridiculous_."

"Do you really want to go against the teacher?" His expression does its best to say, 'Come now, be reasonable'.

She almost looks like she's going to laugh. "Fine, we'll write the paper together, but you have to take this seriously. This is a big part of our final grade. It's _huge_."

He tries to look as somber as possible, pursing his lips and nodding, but when she walks away, he can't help smiling. _And so the adventure begins_. He presses a kiss to his fingertips and touches the paper on the wall.

The second time they get together to write the paper, they meet at Dobler's. Casey keeps getting distracted, paying more attention to Ashleigh and her boyfriend across the room than the words she's typing into her laptop.

"Maybe she's finally becoming the person she was meant to be," Cappie says after the fifth time she expresses her hatred for Travis and the girl Ashleigh pretends to be when she's around him.

"If that's the case," she says, swiveling around on her barstool, "she'd be better off not growing up at all."

Cappie has a strong appreciation for irony. "Could not agree with you more," he sets his drink on the bar. "Especially if growing up turns you into someone you're not. Someone pretentious. Boring. _Pieless_."

The look in her eye tells him she recognizes that she walked right into that one. "Is this your barely clever, hardly subtle way of commenting on my relationship with Evan?"

"It's my barely clever, hardly subtle way of throwing monkey wrenches into the works."

"Fair enough."

The essay gets finished in his room a full three days ahead of schedule.

They stare at the screen for a minute after Casey hits a period at the end of the last sentence, and then she shuts the laptop, sets it on the end of the bed, and leans toward him, smiling. "It's, uh. Great."

"We make a good team," he agrees.

"Do we?"

It's the kind of moment where he thinks anything might happen. She could disagree completely, say, "One good paper doesn't make us a team, Cappie." She could sort of agree and say something like, "I think you're right, maybe you're not as horrible as I remember," before gathering her things and going back to the Zeta Beta house to primp for a date with Evan.

Or – and this is the idea he's a real big fan of, but doesn't want to get too optimistic about – she could go against everything she's been repeating since September and make a move.

Going on past experience, the odds of this last happening _can't _be very good, so he almost thinks he's hallucinating for a second when she presses up on her palms and leans in, coming so close her breath puffs out on his lower lip.

There's a second when neither of them moves, when the space between them hardly exists at all, and he can see her eyes darting between his eyes and his mouth. He tells himself he'll wait for her to kiss him first, because he really doesn't want to leave any room for "You started it, I didn't feel anything," excuses, but when the first beat, and then the next passes, he has a brief moment of _Screw it_, and stretches up, closing the gap.

For a girl who's been all over telling him how wrong for each other they are, she seems pretty into this concept, following him when he lays back until her upper half covers his and her hands are trailing from his shoulder to his cheek, skimming down his neck and coming to rest on his chest.

"Maybe it is fate," she breathes, pulling back just a little and then leaning in again.

Cappie's first instinct is to meet her halfway, and he's almost there, but then his head starts filling with thoughts about how this might be the last time they're together before the lavaliering's supposed to happen, and if he doesn't do the right thing now, she might go through with it, and she hates liars, so the right thing's probably to tell the truth, and anyway, they're both sober, this can't be a mistake, she must want it too, and he doesn't want to ruin that for later, so he pulls away.

"I've got a little confession to make." It's sort of disappointing, actually. He used to be able to lie about anything. "It wasn't exactly fate that brought us together."

Her eyebrows furrow. "Define 'exactly'."

"I bribed the TA with a few bottles of Sandusky lager if he put us two together."

"So fate was a six-pack of beer." Now she's starting to sound angry.

"No." Cappie thinks maybe if he can make her laugh, things'll go back to the way they were before she was pissed off. The important thing is that he was fighting for another chance with her, which makes the payment irrelevant; if he can just get her to see that, everything else will fall into place. "Two six-packs."

She makes an irritated sound when he goes to kiss her again, and sits up, hand flying to her forehead.

Okay. Wrong idea.

"I don't know what I was thinking. I should've guessed this was all just a big scam." The bedsprings creak as she stands up and straightens her skirt.

"No scam," he says, "I just had to convince you that getting lavaliered was a big mistake."

"So I could make a bigger mistake with you?"

"Well, not the words I'd choose exactly, but." Things are going downhill pretty quickly. Two seconds ago they were lying down, having a perfectly good time, and now – his mind stumbles, trying to keep up – now they're back at square one. It's sort of like watching a bad car accident.

"I can't believe it. I have a boyfriend. And I was going to give that all up for one of your jokes."

"This isn't a joke!" He jumps off the bed. "A joke would be, 'A guy walks into a bar. He looks –'"

"Stop!" she shrieks. "Stop. Be a grownup for once. Have a _grown__up_ conversation."

"A dyslexic guy walks into a bra?" He grins so she'll know she's supposed to, too.

Nothing happens. He wonders where the humor went, and why it doesn't seem to be working for him like it usually does.

"I can't go back to the way it was," she says. "I can't spend the rest of my life protesting protests and eating _pie_. I have plans. _Goals_."

"I know," he takes a step forward, "I have them too."

"Really? I know where I want to be in ten years. Do you?" It's almost a challenge, a chance she's giving him to prove himself.

If there was ever a time to be serious, he thinks maybe now's it. "I want to be with you."

She doesn't look like she knows what to say.

He tries calling about a thousand times over the next four hours. The voice at the other end is always pre-recorded.

When the guys hear that Cappie not only attended a class that week, but _also_ wrote a term paper, they laugh, tell him to stop kidding around, and then, after he tells them to shut up because he's serious, decide to go to a movie to celebrate.

He explains the assignment afterward on the walk back home. Nobody really understands until _The Matrix_ is mentioned, and then they're all over it, saying they would've definitely gone to their Lit classes if they'd known they were just going to talk about Neo and Luke Skywalker the whole time.

"Good will always triumph over evil," he's saying as they pass under a streetlight a block away from the house.

"Always?" Beaver asks, shoving a handful of popcorn into his mouth.

"Without a doubt," Cappie starts, slowing to a stop. The ZBZ lawn is full across the street, and Evan and Casey are in the middle of the crowd. _He's __lavaliering__ her_.

Cappie doesn't really know what to do, except watch, so he stands there while Evan fastens his letters around Casey's neck, then wraps his arms around her.

Their eyes meet over his shoulder; Cappie raises his paper cup in some sort of silent toast, smiles like he understands, and doesn't look away until Evan pulls back and leads her toward the front porch. Her expression says she's sorry.

Somehow, Cappie makes it through the rest of first semester and all of second without incident. He passes his classes the way he always has – by acing all his midterms and finals to balance out basically non-existent participation and assignment grades – and throws parties, and doesn't think about Casey once.

Or.

Okay, that's a lie. Obviously he thinks about her a lot, but that's not the point.

It's packing day at the Kappa Tau house, which basically means stuffing all the kegs and otherwise questionable items into that hidden space at the back of the hallway closet, just in case someone springs a surprise inspection over the summer.

Cappie's upstairs throwing things into boxes and duffel bags when there's a knock at his door. He opens it to find Casey standing in the hallway.

"Hey," she says.

"Hey." He moves out of the way so she can step inside. "What're you doing here?"

"I was going through some stuff at the house and found this." She hands him the rubber frog she's been holding.

"Oliver!"

"I thought you might want him back," she says, "considering he was your good luck charm and all."

"I'd forgotten all about that. You saved him?"

"I guess so," she says, shrugging. "He was in a box at the back of my closet. Real mature."

"Rude."

"He has BUDWEISER stamped across his butt."

"Good point."

She stands there for a second before turning toward the hallway. "Anyway, the girls are throwing a goodbye party for Frannie and the other seniors, so I've got to get back. Have a good summer, Cap."

She's almost out the door when he calls her back. "Case, wait."

"What?"

"I've been thinking about it, and I can be a grownup, maybe. I can try. Like, I can read the newspaper, and wear Old Spice, and go to class once in awhile or something."

"You can't play at being a grownup," she says, leaning against the wall.

"Why not?"

"It doesn't work that way."

"But it could."

"But it doesn't. We're not five anymore – being an adult doesn't mean putting on your dad's shoes and tie, and painting a beard on with your mom's mascara, and yelling, 'Honey, I'm home!' when you climb into the tree fort. It's about figuring out what you want in life and finding a way to make it work. It's about getting serious."

And there's the fundamental disagreement. "So serious that you never have any fun? Pretty sure grownups are allowed to laugh."

"I laugh."

He shakes his head. "Not so much. Look, that's not the point. I've _know__n_ what I want for a long time. I want you, and everything I've ever done has been to get you to want me back."

"Really."

"Well. No." She rolls her eyes. "No, but Case. What I said, back in November, about the two of us and ten years? That wasn't a joke."

"I know."

"And you let Evan lavaliere you, anyway."

"I know."

"_Why_?"

There's a crash somewhere downstairs, then Eddie's voice yelling, 'IT'S OKAY!'

"I'm not sure."

"Well, that's a good reason. Yeah, I probably would've done the same thing."

"You don't understand." She twists her bracelet around her wrist. "It's complicated."

This is the part where he always gets confused. "Let me get this straight. You go out with this dude for a year. He never takes you home to meet his parents, and when they finally come to visit, you shop for a whole new wardrobe, fill your head with Shakespeare and PBS, and feel like you're not good enough when they're _still _unimpressed. You sacrifice your sense of humor for the sake of the relationship, get drunk when he cheats on you and sleep with your ex-boyfriend, but when he offers to give you jewelry and a little hint of a commitment, you come back for more?"

She winces a little. "You're right."

"Then _why_?"

"Evan's a good guy," she says. "He might have made some mistakes, but he's sweet, and smart, and funny, and thoughtful –"

"I get it," he interrupts, because _really_.

"And a part of me does love him."

"A part."

"A pretty big part. He's there, and he's safe, and I know he regrets what happened with Rebecca, and that it won't happen again, but I just. We're just."

"Boring?" Cappie suggests.

"I want to disagree with you, but yeah."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah. And the thing is," she stops and takes a breath, like she's not sure whether she wants to go on.

"Uh huh."

"The thing is, there's this other part."

"Hmm."

"There's this other part, which I think might have been what made me come over here today."

He nods. "Would that be the finding Oliver part?"

"Not exactly."

"Oh?"

"No. Because I didn't really 'find' Oliver. I already knew where he was."

"Interesting."

"And that's just it, is that I spend so much time pissed off at you because you're so _ridiculou__s_, but I keep coming over anyway. I find myself looking for excuses to talk to you, even when I don't have to." She takes a step closer. "And the jokes you crack really don't bother me as much as they should because they make me realize that I take myselftoo seriously, but the fact that you don't always piss me off _completely_ does piss me off, because I'm supposed to be an adult and over you."

"But you're not."

"I'm. I'm not." She's so close now he can see the gray lines in her irises.

"So what does that make us?" His hand settles itself at her waist.

"I don't know." Their noses brush. Her eyes flutter shut. "Definitely not boring."

"Fated, would you say?"

Her answer's barely above a whisper. "Maybe so."

Casey breaks things off with Evan the Tuesday after she's elected president of Zeta Beta Zeta – gives back his letters and closes the Omega Chi door behind her.

At least, that's how the story Cappie hears goes.

On Wednesday morning, he opens his bedroom door to find a strawberry pie and two forks waiting on the hallway floor.

_Who said it's over?_


End file.
